


The long kiss goodnight

by Anderseeds



Series: Hellsing works [3]
Category: Hellsing
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Psychological Torture, Smut, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-01-31 18:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21450490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anderseeds/pseuds/Anderseeds
Summary: “I don’t know,” said Anderson. “Will you be staying long?”It took Alucard a moment to decide upon an answer. “As long as you’d like me to stay.”Even death isn't enough to keep Alucard from Anderson.
Relationships: Alucard/Alexander Anderson
Series: Hellsing works [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622206
Comments: 13
Kudos: 163





	The long kiss goodnight

**Author's Note:**

> My third Hellsing fic! And my longest one. I tried something a little plottier than my other ones, so I hope it's enjoyed.

It took Alucard a moment to register just where he was, and he was pleased to find that tonight's dream had taken him to a familiar moonlit hallway in Badrick. The place he’d first encountered one Alexander Anderson. His dreams usually led him to places of his distant past, to his London castle, battlefields throughout Romania, and depths of the Hellsing estate that hadn’t been utilized in decades, so it was a nice change of pace to end up somewhere of a more recent time. Not that he minded the other dreams; swallowing the Major’s pet cat had given him the ability to recognize when he was dreaming and alter its course, so he was often able to entertain himself with doing to dear Abraham Helsing the things he hadn’t been able to do while in captivity. But it was still a pleasant change of scenery, and would be even more so if Anderson happened to show up.

While he was enthusiastic at the prospect of encountering Anderson, apprehension crept up on him as the seconds ticked past. There was the potential, though a slight one, that the sight of him would drudge up grief alongside the inevitable burst of delight. It didn’t help that it wasn’t until recently that he’d been able to properly process Anderson’s passing, because much of those thirty years of imprisonment in his own being had been spent in a mindless stupor, a state he had perfected falling into over the course of his indenture to Hellsing, and one that had been helped by the ceaseless cacophony of a million other souls. What thoughts he’d managed to identify as his own were few and far between, and he’d ceased trying to think altogether shortly after arriving there.

Since recovering a corporeal body, he had dedicated some thought to Anderson and come to terms with the fact he wasn't likely to encounter an opponent of that caliber ever again, so he did expect seeing Anderson to be more pleasant than not. He hadn’t forgotten any of the minute details about him. He recalled vividly his fiery personality, his tenacity, the graceful way he wielded his bayonets and the gleam of excitement that’d always been present in those bright green eyes. He’d been something to behold. Alucard remembered that perfectly well. Once he’d overcome his initial surprise, he expected to enjoy going up against his beloved nemesis again, even if just in the realm of dreams. The paltry enemies he’d been set upon since returning to Hellsing were a bore, a chore.

It was marvelous how detailed the dream was. He grazed his fingers along the plane of a moonlit window and smiled to himself, rubbing away the dust left behind on his glove. It wasn’t often he remembered things with this much clarity. His memory was good, enhanced by his vampirism, but it did occasionally struggle to accommodate his age. When he peered beyond the glass, he could just make out some trees on a black backdrop and little beyond that, so his memory hadn’t filled in _all _the details; just the most important ones. Still, such an accurate representation of the hallway was an impressive feat.

The creak of approaching footsteps caught his attention and he turned his head toward a staircase, just as he had all those years ago. A wave of déjà vu washed over him, and he welcomed it with a smile, drawing his gun from his duster. 

It was just as jarring to see Anderson as he’d expected. Though it was more of an ache than a jarring sensation, like a fist palpating his long-dead heart. He’d cried in front of this man- cried for his pointless death, cried for having the hope he’d placed in him so thoroughly shattered. He’d not cried for someone in centuries. He hadn’t even been sure he _could_ anymore, but his anguish had choked him as Anderson’s blood dried on his hands and the tears had come with all the ease they did a despairing child (he remembered forcing himself not to cry after his first few years under the Turks, because what good did tears do him?). Now here Anderson was, standing before him, a vibrant presence in the dark of the hallway. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. He didn’t want to. He drank in his shock of blond hair and his bright green eyes and the dark olive of his skin and the familiar way he held his bayonets aloft.

Anderson approached. His expression was unexpectedly solemn, eyebrows narrowed and mouth a thin line. That didn’t align with Alucard's memory. He didn’t quite know what to make of it, but he still matched Anderson’s steps, the Casull resting against his thigh. The closer he got, the more incongruous that expression seemed, and something was niggling at him, trying to rise to the surface of his mind. It wasn’t until they were a scant foot from each other that it broke into his awareness.

He could feel the steady thrum of a soul. Carried on Anderson’s blood, as all souls were, and the sound of it became almost racketing now that he knew it was there. He turned wide eyes on Anderson, homing in on the thrumming pulse in his neck, and if he dug his hands in he was sure he’d be warm and alive in a way not achievable in a dream.

Anderson surged for him. He didn’t have the presence of mind to retaliate as Anderson’s bayonets sunk into his chest, the pain of the consecrated silver so real and startling that he blinked and found himself sitting in his basement room. He looked around wildly, half expecting Anderson to be there with him, and only sunk back into his throne when he was certain he was completely alone.

Once his surprise had receded, he touched the tips of his fingers to his chest, over the area Anderson had impaled him. There was a familiar, dissipating sting, a pain he associated with consecrated objects, and it was the only evidence he had that the encounter had been _real_. He would have chalked it up to a particularly vivid dream without the lingering evidence. Though, if not a dream, he wasn’t entirely sure _what _it was. Heaven? Hell? Limbo? Purgatory? Something that had yet to be given a name? From what little he’d interacted with the place, it was impossible to tell.

How he’d done it was less of a mystery, since he had a basic idea of how his newly acquired Schrodinger powers worked: wherever he wanted to be, he could be, and apparently where he had wanted to be in that moment was with Anderson. Not exactly surprising, given how boring his opponents had become since Anderson’s passing.

He tried to will himself back there to no avail. Most abilities he acquired through the consumption of souls were straight-forward, intuitive to control; the Schrodinger abilities weren’t, and he supposed that was why The Major had arranged for him to get them in the first place. If he didn’t understand how something worked, he couldn’t effectively combat it, and his thirty years of being stuck within himself certainly proved that right. Granted, Alucard eventually coming _back _probably hadn’t been part of The Major’s plan.

Anderson was unreachable, and Alucard was disappointed. Perhaps it was for the best he didn’t venture back to wherever Anderson was, because it most certainly wasn’t a place _meant _for people like him, who had eluded death, but he still found himself longing to return. It’d been far too long since he’d last been that excited for a battle.

There were other reasons he wanted to see Anderson, but he made a deliberate effort not to acknowledge those. The situation was complicated enough without him getting into the sentimental side of things.

He slumped back in his chair, tired despite having not done anything physically exerting since his slumber, and retrieved a blood bag from his table. That was that, then.

* * *

Or perhaps not, because the next time he slept, he found himself standing in the hallway again. This time he’d appeared across from Anderson, who startled at his abrupt arrival and slipped smoothly into a fighting stance. Alucard cast his gaze over him appreciatively and smiled. He still felt the faint thrumming of a soul. He definitely hadn’t imagined it last he was here.

Anderson was upon him within seconds. He didn’t fight back, allowing the man to impale him on his bayonets and send him slamming into the wall, shoulders cracking hard against the plaster. The sting of the consecrated metal was welcome. He closed his eyes, laughed softly, and then opened them again to give Anderson a half-lidded look. The man seemed confused, which was to be expected with Alucard’s behavior being so off-kilter.

He wasn’t any more certain of how he’d reached this place or what this place was, but he was glad he was here.

“What’re you playing at, vampire?” Anderson asked, giving his blades a twist. Alucard grunted.

“I’m simply admiring the view, Judas Priest.”

“Admiring the...” It took Anderson a moment to process what he was saying, then he was rearing back and drawing further bayonets into hand.

Alucard threw out his Casull and popped a few bullets into Anderson’s shoulder, hurtling forward in an attempt to slam into Anderson and get him pinned to the ground. He knew from their previous fights that there wasn’t much point in trying to maintain distance with this man. He closed it too fast or used it to his advantage. One had to remain in close quarters if they wanted a longer fight (or when they didn’t have familiars to leap behind).

While Anderson was stumbling back from the velocity of the bullets, Alucard reached for him, fisting a hand around his clerical collar and shoving his Casull hard into Anderson’s side, sending the next spray of bullets slamming through his rib cage and into his chest. The way blood bubbled up over Anderson’s bottom lip and dripped off his chin thrilled Alucard. He licked his serrated teeth, thirst aroused by the spill of crimson. It carried with it the scent of purity, and he suspected there were some vows Anderson valued more than others.

It didn’t take long for Anderson to turn the fight around, throwing himself up and into Alucard and sending them both sprawling across the hallway. He felt a bayonet at his throat and bared his teeth at Anderson in a grin, his pleasure clearly conveyed. The man sated his appetite for combat like no one else.

“Keep this up and I may just be able to forgive your foolishness, priest.” He set the muzzle of his gun against Anderson’s stomach, but Anderson’s bayonet was already beginning to sever his head from his neck. His vision darkened at the edges. He could just about make out the confused knit of Anderson’s eyebrows.

“Stop talking nonsense,” Anderson hissed. “I don’t deserve forgiveness.”

Alucard’s expression flittered into one of bewilderment, and then his head was off, and he awoke with a start in his basement.

* * *

He was beginning to think slumber was the only time he could properly conceptualize being in this place. If he went to sleep _wanting _to appear here, he generally did.

“You again?” was the greeting he received.

So Anderson remembered their last encounter. Curious.

He already had six bayonets in hand, wedged between each finger. “I’ve had enough of this,” Anderson muttered, stalking forward.

“I haven’t,” said Alucard silkily, drawing his gun from the folds of his duster. “I could do this for an eternity.”

Anderson’s steps faltered. “Is that what this is? Further mocking?”

“I always mock my opponents. Don’t take it personally, priest.”

“No, I mean...”

Whatever Anderson meant, he didn’t disclose. He flung his bayonets at Alucard and the battle began. It was longer than their last; or at least, that was the impression Alucard got by how many attacks they exchanged, since there was no other means to tell the passage of time. Anderson looked like he’d forgotten their conversation completely by the time Alucard had him pinned to a wall with the barrel of Casull shoved under his chin. He smiled wide and dragged the cool metal over Anderson’s powerful jaw.

“You should be more forthright when you speak,” he murmured. “All these bewildering remarks. Are you going to enlighten me?”

Anderson narrowed his eyes. “I’ve no desire to bare my soul to you.” He pulled his lips back from his teeth, baring his gums in a snarl. “And that’s what it would be.”

“I bared _mine _to _you_,” said Alucard quietly.

That gave Anderson pause. “Different circumstances.”

“Are they?” he asked, a touch offended. “Need I tear out your heart again to extract an explanation from you? I wouldn’t relish it any more than I did the first time, but I would do it.”

Anderson slammed a bayonet into his side in an effort to dislodge him, which didn’t work. The failure prompted a low, sibilant growl to fall from Anderson’s lips. Being deprived of the upper hand clearly frustrated him and Alucard delighted in it.

“Perhaps I’ll addle those brains instead. It might make you more forthcoming,” he said, and pulled the trigger. A red, lumpy gore splattered across the wall.

The moment Anderson had fallen slack, Alucard found himself back in the basement. It wasn’t the outcome he’d expected, nor hoped for, but he wasn’t terribly surprised; if unconsciousness could send him reeling back to this plane, he supposed it only made sense that Anderson’s falling unconscious did the same, since Anderson was the reason he could appear there in the first place.

Their fights continued throughout the next week, growing lengthier by the day, and Anderson continued to repel Alucard’s efforts to question him. It was a fortunate thing Alucard could subsist without sleep, because he never felt rested upon peeling his eyes open to his chamber. The exact opposite, in fact. He did nap periodically without appearing to Anderson, but he was so eager to see the man and whet his appetite for a good fight that these instances were few and far between.

He had everything he wanted. His beloved servant, his beloved master, his beloved nemesis- and perhaps he didn’t have the latter exactly where he wanted him, but he was pleased to have access to him at all. All the Major’s efforts had amounted to this. He hoped wherever that little bastard was, he could see how thoroughly he had failed in his attempt to destroy Alucard.

It wasn’t until late into the second week that his attempts to make Anderson’s talk finally bore fruit. The next time he entered that hallway, Anderson didn't attack him. Instead he stood on the opposite side of the hallway, silent and still, his stance absent of its usual hostility. Even when Alucard was within reaching distance he didn't so much as raise a hand.

“Do you know what this place is?” he asked, his uncharacteristically subdued voice loud in the silence of the hallway. It was only now, not distracted by combat, that Alucard realized no sound came from beyond the windows. No hissing winds, no rustling trees.

Alucard glanced about them. “I don’t know if any of my educated guesses would be on the mark. But you’re about to fill me in, so go right ahead.”

“It’s purgatory,” said Anderson. “And the sin I need to expiate for is wrath.”

No surprise there. Wrath was a sin Alucard too would have needed to atone for, had he not forfeited his soul to the devil.

He regarded Anderson morosely. “How have you been atoning?”

“By killing,” he said. There was a deep fatigue in his gaze, his composure splintering at the edges. “Ghouls, vampires, sometimes you. Sometimes- sometimes Iscariot's, as well, which I suppose is commentary on what I taught them." There was a brief lull of silence before he spoke again. "But when it’s you, I never managed to win. Even here that seems to allude me.” He wetted his lips. “There wasn’t any lull until you came along. I thought for a while that it was a trick, something to get me back on my guard, but you spoke to me. The other you hadn’t done that.”

So their thirty years of captivity had been spent in much the same way. But Anderson was a human. He couldn’t have the mental fortitude that Alucard – a monster – did, and it was as this occurred to him that he noticed Anderson’s hands were shaking.

“Do you know how much time has passed?” he asked, voice uncharacteristically gentle.

“No.” Anderson swallowed. “Do you?”

“It’s been thirty years since you died, priest.”

A sharp inhale. Anderson’s gaze became unfocused. “Thirty years.”

“Priest?” He paused. “Anderson? _Alexander_?”

Anderson fisted and unfisted his hands, fabric of his gloves breathing with each curl of his fingers. His distress seemed to be affecting the world around them, the dark crawling in from shadowed corners and filling rapidly with tens- no, _hundreds_ of glowing eyes, all the illuminant orange of ghouls. The withered beasts emerged from every direction and began to encroach on Anderson, as though sensing Anderson’s vulnerability. Alucard popped off a few bullets, sending them straight through their hearts and heads, but it didn’t so much as compel the ghouls to pause.

“Anderson.” He turned to the man, reaching out to grab him by the shoulder and give him a shake. Anderson turned his face away. “Anderson, these ghouls-”

“I don’t manage to kill them every time.” He sounded resigned. Such an unsettling tone on him. “It’s not a quick death. You'll want to take your leave.”

Alucard made a sound of disgust, but it wasn’t directed at Anderson. _This_ was what a lifetime of loyalty to God culminated in: decades of torture carefully cultivated to be as damaging as possible. Turning himself into a monster may have been a mistake, but Alucard knew now more than ever that renouncing his faith in God hadn’t been.

“Go, Alucard,” said Anderson, his voice firm. “Even you won’t enjoy this.”

“No.” Alucard twisted his hands into the front of Anderson’s clergy jacket, dragging him forward. The shake of Anderson’s hands abruptly stopped as bayonets instinctively slipped into them. “They can’t have you.”

“They aren’t capable of turning me.”

“I don’t care,” Alucard snarled. “They can’t have you. You are _mine_, Judas Priest.”

Anderson opened his mouth to protest. Alucard silenced it by tearing his other hand into Anderson’s hair and yanking his head back, baring the length of his throat. Just what Alucard planned on doing seemed to take a moment to register through Anderson's shock, and by that time, his teeth were already closing over Anderson’s throat and sinking in with all the ease of a knife into butter. The blood that welled up under them was hot and seared on its way down his throat, like swallowing molten, consecrated silver, but he pressed on through the pain- even enjoyed it, in truth.

Anderson’s hands rose to his shoulders and curled hard into his duster, alternating between pushing at Alucard and pulling him closer, like he couldn't decide if this was better or worse than being killed by the ghouls. His nails bore pink crevices into Alucard’s pale skin. He probably would have broken through bone and skin on a less durable creature, but Alucard was able to take such an assault without fearing grievous damage.

He swallowed mouthful after mouthful of Anderson’s lifeforce, greedily drinking him down until he neither heard, nor felt the presence of the ghouls anymore. It took a great deal of self-control to dislodge his teeth before he’d emptied Anderson to the last drop, but he forced himself, drawing away and curling an arm around Anderson’s back as the man slumped forward. He was pale, shaking, but thanks to Alucard, he was alive.

He didn’t try to pull away, strangely. He remained slumped in Alucard’s arms, cheek swashed to Alucard's chest, and it occurred to Alucard that this was probably the first pleasant physical touch he’d experienced since arriving here. For a man as tactile as Anderson, that must have been a difficult adjustment. It was bemusing to think the man was taking comfort in his presence.

“I felt it,” Anderson said, swallowing thickly. “The pull on my soul.”

“Are you upset?”

“No.”

Alucard tentatively raised a hand to Anderson's nape, fingers resting over the short hairs there. “I wasn’t sure that would work. My intuition has served us well.” He drew Anderson up just enough to view his face. He was very pale. “Will they return once I’ve gone?”

“I don’t know,” said Anderson. “Will you be staying long?”

It took Alucard a moment to decide upon an answer. “As long as you’d like me to stay.”

He was indulging his sentimentality. Something he’d told himself he wouldn’t do, but it wouldn’t be the first time his emotions had refused to be harmonious with his plans.

“Alright.”

They stood in silence for a long time, and Alucard wasn’t the one who moved first.

* * *

Anderson asked about Iscariot. Alucard gave him every answer he requested, even the most painful of ones. He was quiet when Alucard told him of Heinkel's disfiguration and new role at Iscariot, and quieter still when he told him of Yumiko’s fate. The man had been beat down over the past thirty years and this was just beating him down further, but Alucard preferred to be forthright about these things. He was no liar, not even by omission.

He didn’t know how to offer comfort, particularly in a way that would be palatable to Anderson, so instead he engaged him in battle to get his mind off his children. It worked. The battles had him grinning within minutes, because even after thirty years of non-stop slaughter – of himself and his opponents – he still found Alucard a delight on the battlefield. Alucard found that gratifying.

The skirmish ended when Anderson finally got him on the ground, bayonets plunged into each of his palm to keep them out of the way while Anderson straddled him and set a blade against his throat. Alucard didn’t mind surrendering under these circumstances, but he did so slowly, drawing out the moment, looking up at Anderson with half-lidded eyes. The man, predictably, didn’t seem to notice what this look signified. Oblivious as ever.

“I haven't slept since I arrived here,” he said after a while, sliding his bayonet into his cassock sleeve. “I’ve tried, but the monsters always come when I do.”

Alucard canted his head at him. “Are you tired?”

“Very.” Anderson fisted his hands around the bayonets impaling Alucard’s hands and yanked them out. “But less, when you’re here.”

“When I’m here,” Alucard parroted with a smile. He rose up onto his elbows, closing a hand over one of Anderson’s knees. Even in purgatory he was wonderfully warm, his heat radiating through his clothes. “Perhaps you’d be able to sleep with my being here to combat any unwelcome presences.”

Anderson snorted. “More likely, you’d end up kicked out and I’d have a headache to deal with.”

“I can get back easily enough.”

Anderson shook his head and rose off Alucard’s hips, neatening his clothes. He moved to sit next to a window, on the floor, and Alucard lowered himself to Anderson's side.

“Just this is fine, vampire.” He folded his arms over his knees, resting his chin on his forearms. “Why're you being so helpful?"

“Because I hold you in positive regard, and you don't deserve this,” said Alucard. He slipped his hand up and it curled it tight around Anderson’s bicep. “You made a _foolish _decision when you discarded your humanity and I’m not yet prepared to forgive you entirely for it, but you were a better man than any other I’d ever encountered, in your final moments.” A pause, and then he added, “You were the epitome of humanity, Anderson.”

Anderson leaned into his hand instead of trying to shake it off. Anderson being starved for any kind of affection was jarring, but he was steadily getting used to it.

“I don’t stand as tall and unwavering as I once did," he said. "Do you still believe that?”

“Have you sought the devil for help?” asked Alucard.

“No,” said Anderson, quirking a lip. “I doubt he’d accept my audience if I tried, but I've no intention of testing that.”

It went without saying that Anderson was doing better than Alucard did while under duress. He idly rubbed at thumb into Anderson’s shoulder.

“I worry about how long I’ll be here,” said Anderson. He dropped his head back, scalp against the plaster. “Centuries. Millennia. Perhaps God would heal me once I’ve finished my expiation, but it’s hard to imagine that length of suffering. I’m not even sure how I managed to retain my faculties after thirty years.”

“It wouldn’t be much of a punishment if you weren’t at least somewhat cognizant of it,” said Alucard. “I’m sure your god has helped there.” He’d kept Anderson in prime shape too, from the looks of him. No food, water, or sleep, but his appearance hadn't changed any since his death. The only difference discernible to Alucard were the bags under his eyes. 

“I’m-” Anderson opened and closed his mouth a few times, then fell quiet. It was a poignant sort of quiet, and Alucard didn’t know what to say to comfort him any more than he had when disclosing Yumiko’s and Heinkel’s fates. He never had been very good at this sort of thing, even as a human.

After a while, he did think up something to say. “I’ll be visiting often.”

Anderson let out a rough sort of laugh, and Alucard cocked an eyebrow at him. “I just can’t believe my only friend is the man who put me here in the first place. Indirectly, I'll concede.”

“Oh? Do you blame me for it, then?” asked Alucard, genuinely curious. Perhaps even a little troubled by what answer he might receive.

“Of course not,” said Anderson. “I was going to die sooner or later. You just expedited the process, and you would have died if you hadn't.” He edged a fraction closer, head tilting toward Alucard. “After everything that happened between us, you've no reason to visit me. But you're here, and I- I appreciate that."

* * *

Anderson’s desire for physical contact eventually culminated in a kiss. One initiated by Alucard, because if he let the priest set the pace it would be years before they got anywhere. Even in the depths of purgatory he managed to remain a prude.

Anderson had no technique to speak of; he kissed back wetly, clumsily, with more teeth and gum than anyone would deem acceptable, but there was enough enthusiasm behind the reciprocation that Alucard found it easy to be patient. He guided the kiss into something less chaotic and twisted his hands into Anderson’s clergy jacket, tearing it out of the way so he could curl his fingers around Anderson’s powerful pecs. This somewhat hindered the lesson in kissing, since Anderson seemed to find focus difficult while Alucard was groping beneath his shirt.

“Put your hands around my shoulders,” he instructed, breath ghosting over Anderson’s chin as he dipped down toward his throat. “Hold onto me.”

There was a moments hesitation before Anderson complied, probably wrestling with his sense of propriety. His brow was furrowed.

"You’re already in purgatory, priest,” Alucard said, gently smoothing a palm over Anderson's forehead and skating his fingers through his short blond hair. “This isn’t going to make your situation worse.” Judging by how easily Anderson proceeded to yield to him, pressing into each application of his tongue and hands, this was making his situation _better_.

He slid his tongue beneath Anderson’s jaw and pressed it flat against the thrum of his pulse. In this place, he felt as alive as anyone else. So wonderfully, addictingly alive, and Alucard would have sunk his nails into Anderson’s chest to feel the warm, wet pulse of his heart had he thought Anderson would permit it. He would have overwritten the memory of tearing it out with one of him cradling it gently, treating it like the precious, life-giving component of humanity that it was. A strange whim, but Alucard’s life and unlife had been comprised of those. It was why it was such a mess, frankly.

He satiated himself – or at least some fraction of himself, because he was an insatiable being – with tracing every rise and crevice of Anderson's chest with his tongue. The man tasted of sweat, blood, and cleanliness; quite a feat, considering he hadn’t showered in thirty years.

Anderson trembled. He moaned. He curled his fingers tight into Alucard’s back and drew him closer. These were behaviors he never would have imagined the priest capable of, and it was a thrill to be able to drag them out of him. Perhaps he could make the man scream, too. He did seem the type. Always vocal during battle, hissing and shouting and the like, so it might not even be that hard to get him worked up to that point.

He let the ends of his teeth brush over Anderson’s pecs and was about to snap them around the meatiest part, over the nipple, when he heard someone call for him. It was faint, barely audible, but that didn't matter because he _felt_ the call far more intensely. He tried to press on. He didn’t want the intimacy to end here, on the crux of bliss, but the call racketed through him so violently that he knew it wouldn’t be long before he was ripped from this place.

It was with clear reluctance that he drew back, which earned him an inquisitive look from Anderson, who evidently couldn’t hear whatever it was he was hearing.

“I’ll be back,” he promised, slipping his hands up to the nape of Anderson’s neck and drawing him close.

Anderson dropped his forehead to Alucard's shoulder. “I might have thought better of this by then.”

“There’s no ‘better’,” said Alucard. “Not in this place.”

Anderson laughed softly, sardonically, and pressed himself closer to Alucard, molding their bodies together. There was something about being held like this that was almost more intimate than the licking and kissing had been. “Then hurry back.”

Taking a needless breath, Alucard tangled his fingers into Anderson’s hair and let his lips rest on the crown of his head. Then he was gone. He willed himself back to the living realm, opening his eyes to the dark of his chamber and turning his attention to a flurry of knocks on his door.

“Master? Master!”

He was annoyed by the disturbance, but he had to laugh. His dear Seras Victoria could pull him from the brink of death, out of his own being, and apparently from an entirely different realm as well. Perhaps it was the high pitch of her voice.

“Enter,” he called, reaching for a package of blood on his table. Already opened, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd consumed tepid, watery blood.

Seras peeked her head inside before stepping through the door, her hands cupped behind her back. “Master, we have a job tonight. We should start getting ready.”

This was the first he'd heard of it. Integra scarcely called him to her office, these days. He found it disgruntling, but he couldn’t fault her for having fallen into the habit of calling upon Seras in lieu of him. She’d had thirty years with Integra, after all, while Alucard had only had ten before he’d disappeared from her life. They’d developed many habits in the time Alucard had been absent, and he understood that he was to accommodate them.

Returning to Anderson wouldn’t be possible tonight, it seemed. His work, unfortunately, took priority. Hopefully the priest wouldn’t be too upset with him when he did finally find a quiet moment to resume their activities. He would hate to get the cold shoulder after making such exciting progress.

“Master,” said Seras softly, her shadow-arm undulating as she stepped deeper into the room. “You’ve been spending a lot of time sleeping recently. That’s not… it’s not because of how long you spent stuck inside yourself, is it?”

She sounded uneasy. Even after thirty years, she remained the anxious sort, uniquely human in her vampirism.

“No,” he said. “I just get more done in my dreams.” 

“Oh.” It was evident she didn’t understand what he was getting at, nor could she understand without Alucard directly telling her, but she took him at his word all the same, turning to make her exit.

“Nose to the grindstone,” said Alucard as he stepped out after her, dragging his tongue along his pointed teeth.

* * *

Anderson was sitting on the second-to-last stop of the staircase when Alucard returned. His eyes were trained on the floor, staring at nothing. Not staring in the way Alucard did when he detached himself from consciousness to escape the passage of time, but in the manner of one _struggling _to achieve that. Unable to purge thought, dispirited and desperate, and Alucard had to take a moment to rein in his anger at god before he approached. His anger was ineffectual. All it would do was make Anderson uncomfortable.

He brought Anderson’s attention to him by dropping to his haunches before him. Anderson glanced up, life returning to the cool green of his eyes. “Took you long enough, vampire.”

“I apologize for the length of my absence, but you should be _pleased_ with me,” said Alucard, dipping forward to press a kiss to Anderson’s jaw. He noted that Anderson’s clothes were not only back in place, but had a splatter of blood on them. He must've had some visitors while Alucard was gone. “I was exterminating vampires,” he continued. “I intend to exterminate every last one.”

“You’re just fixing the mistakes you made,” Anderson said with a guffaw. He let Alucard guide him to the floor, onto his back, becoming soft and pliant as Alucard clambered atop him. “You're escalating this faster than before," he murmured.

“Too fast?” he asked, carefully arranging Anderson’s limbs into a spread for him. Open thighs, hands above his head, body available for Alucard to make a mess of.

“Yes,” said Anderson, and that gave Alucard pause. “But you don’t have to stop.”

‘I don’t want you to stop’ he was sure was what Anderson actually meant, and he smiled.

“Are you afraid of what your God thinks?” Alucard knew the answer, but he asked anyway. “Of breaking your vows?”

“Yes,” Anderson said. “And many other things.”

Alucard slid his fingers behind Anderson’s neck, searching for the clip at the back of Anderson’s clerical collar. He didn’t want to pull it off entirely. Just wanted to let it hang open and enjoy what the implications of that. “Fear is the heart of your love for god,” he said. “I always thought that a good summary of Christian belief. Catholic in particular.”

Anderson said nothing. He couldn’t deny it, not with how he’d spent his life dispensing Catholic doctrine. Through force, through fear, and Alucard felt more than ever that they were painfully alike. He pulled the clerical collar open and moved to release the buttons of his clergy jacket.

“I didn’t-" Anderson broke off, hesitated, then carried on. "I didn't fear much of anything until you came along.”

Alucard scoffed. Normally he liked to hear such things; from Anderson, he didn't. “You’ve never been afraid of me.”

“No, not you,” Anderson confirmed. He rested his chin on his sternum and watched Alucard pull his clergy jacket open. “The things surrounding you. Like this.”

“Ah,” said Alucard, like he understood, but he wasn’t sure he really did. Did that matter, though? Things were going to be complicated between them regardless of his understanding Anderson’s exact feelings.

Once the clergy jacket was out of the way, he tore through the rest of the layers to give himself an uninhibited view of and access to Anderson’s torso. Sun-licked skin, firm muscle, a happy trail from his crotch to just under his bellybutton, and he felt just as good as he looked, buttery and pliant under Alucard’s hands. He let his gloves sink into himself so to indulge in skin-on-skin contact.

“Have you ever thought about doing this?” he asked.

“Not really. Not with anyone specific,” said Anderson, and that just delighted Alucard. “Even while going through puberty I was too busy serving God to worry about this sort of thing.”

“So, just me,” said Alucard with a quirk of a lip.

Anderson snorted. “You sound pleased.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I pursued virgins as a Count for a reason, which is really just the cherry atop the cake, where you're concerned.”

Anderson’s face coloured, at that. He moved his arm so it was partially covering his cheeks. “Get on with it. Every time you open your mouth, I regret this a little more.”

“So we haven’t reached capacity yet.”

Anderson groaned, and Alucard laughed, leaning down to oblige him. He started where they left off, gently closing his teeth around the curve of a pec and swirling the tip of his tongue over the nub of Anderson’s nipple. A bold start, but one Anderson responded to with an approving little sound. He wasn’t sure what to call it, exactly; something between a moan and a squeak, and it was endearing.

His teeth left indents. He peppered kisses over them while they healed, reaching down between their bodies to divest Anderson of his belt. Even blind, he was able to do it easily, deftly undoing the buckle and slipping the strip of leather from around Anderson’s hips. It crossed his mind how appealing Anderson would look with it pulled tight around his wrists, but he put that aside for a later date, when he wasn’t dealing with a _complete_ virgin. He couldn’t expect Anderson to be on board with all his ideas at this early period.

Once the trousers and underwear were out of the way, he trailed his thumbs over the curve of Anderson’s hips and followed them down toward his navel. He didn’t touch Anderson's cock, not yet. Not until he’d gotten Anderson a little more worked up. The man was already stirring, but he knew he could do better. He diverted his attention to Anderson’s legs instead, sinking his fingers into the warmth of his inner thighs.

There were so many soft angles on Anderson compared to Alucard’s hard, narrow body, and he appreciated that, being able to sink his fingers into flesh and feel the soft give of muscle underneath. His touch drew an appreciative sigh from Anderson, so he dragged his fingers over the sensitive flesh until the sounds became a refrain.

He drank in every reaction he elicited. He always liked to watch his partners, sear their vulnerability into his memory. And vulnerability could be brought out through many means, but he favored drawing it out through pleasure these days.

Anderson’s legs were trembling when he lowered his mouth to them, and when he moved to press them apart Anderson simply let them fall open, wide and inviting. Alucard indulged in a private, self-satisfied smile before dragging his lips over the smooth skin on the insides of Anderson's thighs, reveling in the heat they provided. His tongue flicked out at the junction of Anderson’s hip and leg and Anderson moaned his appreciation. If the priest hadn’t been hard before, he certainly was now.

“I want to sink my teeth in.” He didn’t have any need for oxygen, but he made a conscious effort to have breaths roll over Anderson’s skin as he spoke. “Will you allow me that, priest?”

There was a lull of silence while Anderson wrangled together some composure. “Where?” he asked, disorientated.

“Your thigh. The soft part.” He let his lips graze at the exact spot, just a little way from his public bone. “Here.”

“It won’t be permanent,” said Anderson.

Alucard gave the verbal equivalent of a shrug. “That doesn’t make me want to do it any less.”

He heard Anderson swallow. Whether it was from arousal or hesitation was difficult to discern. It an attempt to entice him, he pressed his cheek into the side of Anderson’s leg and let his teeth rest delicately on the adductor muscles. There was no threat of breaking skin, just the tantalizing promise that he _could_ if Anderson wanted him to, and he knew Anderson – like him – would find the danger inherent in that provocative.

It worked.

“Do it,” said Anderson, folding both of his arms over his face now, making no effort to be discreet in hiding his embarrassment. All Alucard could see were the bright red tips of his ears. He gave Anderson a fond look before turning his attention to Anderson’s waiting flesh.

His bite could be pleasurable if he made the effort, and he made the effort to generate that fabled euphoria when he sunk his teeth into Anderson’s thigh. The little remaining composure the priest had crumbled completely. He arched his back off the floor and cried out, voice echoing through the hallway and dying in its darkest reaches. He bellowed like a man lost, and Alucard was the one dragging him down, plunging him into the depths of a rapturous pleasure that could addle the mind of even the strongest, most resolute of men. The best part was that Anderson was _willingly_ submitting to being his conquest. 

He eagerly lapped up any blood that seeped out under his teeth. It burned its way down his throat and settled hot and inexorable in the pit of his stomach, but he didn't stop, not even when steam began to rise up from his mouth. He wanted to have as much of Anderson as Anderson was willing to give him. He wouldn't waste a single drop.

The clench of his teeth didn’t ease until Anderson’s writhing and moaning had started to subside, and the moment he had dislodged, he was drawing back to admire the mark he’d created. They faded within seconds of Alucard setting his eyes on them, but there was gratification in seeing the deep, bloody crevices he’d torn into Anderson’s skin, and the fact Anderson's cock was now completely hard helped with Alucard's enthusiasm. It was tempting to lick a stripe under the underside of his cock, start that moaning and withering anew, but he knew better than to do anything without making sure the priest was on board first. The last thing he wanted was for Anderson to get chased away by his escalating the situation too fast for his liking.

“Anderson.”

That he was being spoken to didn't register to Anderson right away. There was a pause, a blink, and then Anderson finally glanced down at him, irises barely visible through his lashes.

"I want to suck you,” he said, shifting so his chin was resting on one of Anderson’s hips.

Anderson drew in a sharp breath. Alucard expected the immodesty of his requests were something Anderson was struggling to adjust to, puritan that he was. Or had been prior to meeting Alucard, anyway.

“If you disappear in the middle of it, I’ll kill you the next time you come here,” was his eventual reply.

Such charming pillow talk. It was one of the reasons he so adored Anderson. Few people spoke to him in such a manner- at least, not without having the strength to back up their insolence, and it was a nerve he could appreciate, especially in the context of intimacy.

“Perfectly fair,” he said. He felt that sufficed as a warning and turned his head to take Anderson into his mouth, right down into his throat, which had Anderson jerking so violently that he would have choked Alucard had Alucard needed to breathe. He almost laughed. Stifled it, because he was sure Anderson would take offense if he realized what Alucard was doing.

Anderson had been too busy choking on his breath to make sound when Alucard had descended on him, but he had enough air back in his lungs to make up for that by the time Alucard began to suck. His shout bounced off the walls, his hips canting toward Alucard’s warm, wet mouth and cock driving toward the back of his throat, which Alucard was happy to help him reach. Anderson's cock was large enough that a normal man wouldn’t have been able to accommodate his girth, but Alucard had the good fortune of being able to manipulate the size of his throat. He sucked and roved his tongue over the underside of Anderson’s arousal, closing his fingers around the base so he could stroke while bobbing.

The priest wouldn’t last long. That much was obvious, particularly as he’d already begun to shudder with impending climax. Alucard folded a forearm over Anderson’s hips to keep him in place and hummed deep in his throat, sending Anderson the rest of the way over the precipice with his pleasant little vibrations.

Anderson came violently, as was the wont of a man like Anderson, with his nails tearing into his palms and his heels digging into the floor and his skull thumping hard into the cement. Saliva trailed down the corner of his parted lips and a cry that could have rattled windows left him as he spilled into Alucard’s mouth. 

Once Anderson’s shaking had subsided, Alucard drew back with a toothy grin and licked the seed on his lips into the unfathomable depths of him. He could quite confidently say that had been one of the best sexual experiences he’d ever had. Watching a priest – and a proud warrior – unravel before him wasn’t something he’d gotten to experience before; not outside the literal, anyway, since he had flayed a priest or two in his time as a War Lord. Not every priest he’d encountered had been as respectable as Anderson.

He rose onto his knees so he could look down on Anderson and roved his gaze over the parted thighs, the cock softening on his hip, the eyelashes brushing his red cheeks and the sweat glistening on his skin. He was blushing in places Alucard hadn’t thought humans _could_ blush- the chest and knees and the like. What a wonderful mess he made. He’d managed to dig his fingers into the most private parts of Anderson and excavated everything he could reach, drawing it to the surface, and he was glad that he had because he was rapidly realizing there was little he enjoyed more than being able to see Anderson in this state. His beloved nemesis indeed.

Anderson took a deep, rejuvenating breath and gestured Alucard closer. “Let’s lie here.”

“You want to lie down with me?” asked Alucard, amused.

“Is that so strange? Isn’t this what people usually want to do after-?” Anderson huffed and grabbed Alucard by his ascot, dragging him down. Alucard offered up no resistance, folding onto his elbows and then lowering himself to Anderson’s chest, his ear positioned directly over Anderson’s heart.

“I’m just surprised by how pliant you’re being.” He curled up atop Anderson, tangling their legs and guiding Anderson’s arms to fold over his shoulders with the insistent pulling of his shadows. Anderson allowed him to arrange the limbs, threading his fingers just over Alucard's bicep.

“You’re being more pliant than I am,” said Anderson, his voice wry. But he was curling up against Alucard all the same.

“There’s more to my nature than simple ferocity,” said Alucard. He let one hand drape over Anderson’s navel, while the other curled at Anderson’s side. He was used to sleeping like a board, arms folded over his chest and body rigid, but when he had someone sufficiently warm to rest with he would blanket himself on them like an indolent cat. The Queen had found it endearing. He gathered by the way Anderson’s mouth had curved that Anderson shared that sentiment.

“Yes,” said Anderson, fingers tracing circles into Alucard’s shoulder. “There’s also simple perversion.”

Well, he couldn’t deny that.

* * *

There wasn’t much one could do in purgatory except fight, talk, and exchange the occasional intimacy, but these things were all Alucard had ever wanted from life, so he wasn’t fussed about the restrictions. It was more than he’d gotten through most of his time with Hellsing, in fact. Not a bad selection for one in a cage.

Talking was the most common of the activities, and while Alucard had been forthcoming about himself in conversation, offering up the sordid details of his past without too much prompting, Anderson was much more reluctant to divulge his life story. It’d taken a few months for Alucard to pry out basics, such as his age, where he’d grown up, and his relationship with the other Iscariot’s, and it took even longer to get anything beyond that. He had to exercise patience, which - fortunately - was easy enough to do when you’d been alive for almost six hundred years.

Along with the standard details of Anderson’s life, he developed a more rounded view of the man. His likes, dislikes, what he did in his free time, the people he loved, and the hardships he’d experienced. There was a great deal more to him than his conviction and strength, and Alucard found he liked those things just as much as he did the qualities that had drawn him to Anderson in the first place. Now more than ever, he was pleased to consider Anderson his nemesis.

Over the following months spent in Anderson’s company, he noticed Anderson’s health steadily improving. The visits seemed to have a rejuvenating effect on him. Not physically; he was always at his peak in that regard, courtesy of the stagnation purgatory created, but they sharpened the dull edge thirty years of repetitive activity had made of Anderson’s mind. At one-point Alucard attempted to bring in books to further facilitate this recovery, but attempt was the key word, because Alucard and his weapons seemed to be as much foreign matter as the world was willing to accept. At Anderson’s request, he memorized as many passages in a novel as he could and recited them instead.

Novels weren't Anderson’s only interest, however.

“I’d like…” There was a long pause before Anderson resumed speaking. Alucard didn’t try to interrupt. He knew Anderson was still struggling to adjust to needing to ask his mortal enemy for things. “To hear some poetry.”

“Poetry,” said Alucard, amused. He hadn’t taken Anderson as the sort to enjoy poetry. “You want me to recite poetry to you? Really?”

Anderson coloured and glanced away. “If you’re going to refuse, do it outright. Don’t make fun of me.”

“Oh, no, I’m happy to read you poetry.” Alucard practically purred the words. “Do you have any preferences? Pablo Neruda’s one hundred love sonnets, maybe? Would you like me to whisper them in your ear while I pleasure you?”

He colored even further. “Forget it. I regret asking.”

“Pablo Neruda’s one hundred love sonnets it is, then. I can even start one right now-“

Anderson interrupted with a scoff, but didn’t try to stop Alucard when he proceeded to recite Pablo’s Love Sonnet XI. He even looked pleased with the delivery, which Alucard knew was as close to a compliment as he would get after his teasing.

Throughout waking hours he would think about new ways to tease Anderson, new topics to bring up, new attacks he could use on the man, and it was a strange turn of events to find such easy companionship in someone he categorized as his nemesis, but he was glad.

* * *

He was in the middle of drawing them both to orgasm with a hand fisted around their cocks, stroking slow and languid, when Anderson offered himself to him. It took him a moment to register Anderson’s voice thanks to how close to the precipice he was, and then he needed a few moments more to recover his voice.

“What was that?”

“Put it in me.”

This announcement was quick to shake off his daze. “Put what in you?” he asked, smiling wide. He knew full well what Anderson was asking for; he just wanted specifics. He enjoyed the thought of Anderson further debasing himself for Alucard’s benefit. “Ask me properly."

Anderson managed a look of exasperation despite how close to climax he himself was. “If you’re trying to make fun of me, this isn’t the time for it.”

“Oh, I just want clarification, priest.” He released their cocks to slip his hand between Anderson’s legs, thumb dragging on the soft furl of Anderson’s opening. Anderson responded with a delightful breathy sound. “What exactly do you want me to put in you? Because I have many things available to fulfill such a request.” A shadow slithered out from his fingertips and coiled over one of Anderson’s bent knees. He wouldn’t have minded doing the penetrating with them, in truth, even if it wouldn’t be as pleasant as sex with the standard tools. “Tell me which of them you’d like.”

“You’re the brattiest five hundred and ninety nine year old I’ve ever had the displeasure to deal with,” said Anderson.

Alucard laughed. “You’ve met other people in my age group?”

“Ass,” Anderson hissed, and Alucard’s retort came in the form of him shallowly pressing a finger into him, watching with relish as he gasped and clenched around it.

“Don’t hold out on me, priest,” he said, leaning down to drag his lips over the stretch of Anderson’s throat, threatening his teeth. “Ask for it. Exactly what you want.”

“Fuck me,” Anderson groaned. He arched into Alucard’s mouth, head tilted back in offering. “Is _that_ what you want to hear? Will that _satisfy_ you?”

“Nothing will satisfy me.” Alucard curled his hands up under Anderson’s thighs and hoisted him up, positioning Anderson over his lap. Anderson moved to accommodate the new position by folding his legs against Alucard’s sides and tucking heels just over Alucard’s hips, holding them both in place. “Nothing will satisfy me,” he said again, gliding the leathery head of his cock over the clef of Anderson’s ass. He wouldn’t breach him just yet. He needed to prepare him first, get him slick and relaxed. “But this certainly will help.”

His guns, unlike himself, weren’t impervious to wear, so he kept oil on hand for when the chamber became rough from overuse. It hadn’t been used in a while, and he was sure there would still be plenty there when he went to retrieve it from his coat. Unfortunately, just like the books he’d tried to bring in, the oil hadn’t accompanied in him either, and he found nothing within his void except his guns. Not especially useful items for what they were about to do (unless Anderson was feeling experimental, but he doubted Anderson would take kindly to having a gun shoved up his ass). 

“It’ll have to be saliva, then," he said.

“Saliva?” Anderson sounded confused. “What’re you talking about?” It didn’t seem to have occurred to him that they would need lubrication for such an activity. Alucard supposed an understanding of how these things proceeded was a bit much to expect of a Catholic priest.

He held a palm under his mouth and poked out his tongue to encourage wet to gather. It wasn’t the best lubrication one could use, but it would suffice as long as Anderson was relaxed enough. And he could generate more than a human, anyway, since he didn’t have the same biological limitations. Being able to create absurd amounts of saliva had never been a particularly useful skill, so it was nice to finally find a purpose for it.

Disgust flittered across Anderson’s face at what he was doing, but he voiced no complaints as Alucard first stroked the makeshift lubrication down his cock, then slid two fingers smoothly into Anderson. A lot to start with, but the man could take it. He knew that, and this was confirmed when Anderson merely gasped at the intrusion instead of showing any signs of pain. He was tight around Alucard’s fingers, but not uncomfortably so, and he relaxed as Alucard carefully spread the saliva throughout his passage. His walls were warm, silky, and Alucard was eagerly anticipating getting to sink into them.

He let more saliva drip onto his fingers, pistoning them smoothly in and out of Anderson and carefully searching around for his sweet spot. Not everyone was responsive to prostate stimulation, but when it could be used it was effective in readying someone for anal. Which was something Alucard knew from experience. The Queen had been very adventurous as a young lady.

He savored every hot centimeter he reached, parting Anderson’s thighs to delve deeper and skate the tips of his fingers over a soft bundle of nerves- which made Anderson keen in a way he had never done prior, so primordial he could have been a deer under the jaws of a wolf. Alucard would have liked to bottle that sound and keep it for always, but he would settle for drawing forth further instances of it.

Anderson arched into the air as he applied his fingers again, the silvery wedge of moonlight from the window falling across Anderson's chest and turning his smoky complexion luminous. He curled a hand around Alucard’s wrist, drawing him deeper, his touch harder, and Alucard was more than happy to oblige the silent demand.

Anderson was fast to become flushed. Red dusted his face, his neck, his chest, and dragged all the way down to his cock, which was red and twitching on his stomach, a few strokes away from spilling his seed. But Alucard was careful not to tip Anderson over the edge. It wasn’t his fingers he wanted to use to make Anderson come. 

He drew them out once Anderson was adequately prepared and sheathed Anderson on his cock so fast and so smoothly that the sensation of it sent his head spinning. He took a deep, needless breath to center himself, focused his eyes back on Anderson, and was rewarded immediately with the sight of Anderson with his head thrown back and his mouth open wide around the tail-end of a cry. It was incredible how easily he opened up to Alucard, taking Alucard down to the hilt like it was nothing. Like he was made for this, for Alucard, for Alucard to stretch beautifully around his cock.

Now that he knew exactly where Anderson’s sweet spot was, it was easy to angle himself in a way that had the leathery head of his cock gliding over it as he pulled back, then rocked his hips forward. Anderson reached up amid a cry and curled shaking hands over Alucard’s back, pulling him down until they were chest to chest, sweat slick between them. His nails dug welts into Alucard's pallid skin that Alucard let linger for the simple pleasure of being marked.

“It feels- it feels-“ Anderson seemed unable to find the words he was looking for, but his rapturous expression communicated his meaning well enough on its own.

“You can finish,” said Alucard quietly, because he knew the priest wasn’t far off. Couldn’t be, after everything Alucard had subjected him to before this. He curled a hand over Anderson’s hip, tilting him in a way that enabled him to stroke harder over Anderson’s prostate, and then-

“Oh God! Oh God!” This voice was loud and tremulous and carried with it the distinct impression of something shattering. “I- I love you!”

It wasn’t an announcement either of then processed immediately. Alucard’s mind was sent adrift as the clench of Anderson’s ass propelled him over the edge after Anderson. He shook and shouted and everything curled- his back, his fingers, his toes, his legs and arms- everything, and he pressed his forehead hard into Anderson’s shoulder because it was all he could do to keep their bodies aligned.

He didn’t have the presence of mind to coil a hand over either of their cocks to catch the come, so it fell between them in messy strings. Once he’d recovered enough to move, Alucard collected it on his fingers and licked every trace of it off with careful swipes of his tapered tongue.

And then, several minutes after the fact, he realized what Anderson had said. He wasn’t the only one who’d realized, either. Anderson stared at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, and the truth in what he'd said was apparent on his face.

“You love me,” Alucard murmured, when he trusted his voice. To his surprise, it wasn’t something he found displeasing despite knowing full well it was a mistake to hold a creature like him in such affection. Most of all for Anderson, a noble man who’d dedicated his entire being to the very thing Alucard had turned his back on as a human.

Anderson said nothing for a long time. His harsh breaths misted the frigid air.

“Let’s lie down a while,” he said, finally, and while Alucard had hoped to receive some sort of follow up to Anderson’s confession, he was warm (he could never be hot no matter how much he exerted himself) and comfortable enough that he didn’t have the will to refuse. Trying to force an answer probably wouldn't be wise, anyway.

He lay down on Anderson’s chest in the same position he had after their first tryst and moved his coat to drape over them, blanketing the long length of their bodies with a little help from Alucard’s ductile nature. It trapped the heat they’d generated with their activities between their bodies.

He closed his eyes. The orgasm induced daze slowly receded, and with clarity came an onslaught of thoughts that had been balancing on the edge of his mind until that point. The most concerning of them was this:

What did he feel for Anderson, exactly?

He knew he held the man in high esteem; he always had, and he also knew there was a sense of companionship when they were together. Those things were easy to understand. The depths of his obsession, affection, and need were far less easy to unravel.

It probably wasn’t love, because he wasn’t sure he was even capable of it. His past forays into what _should_ have been love were testament to that. Whatever it was, it was strong, irrevocable- _frightening_, rising up his spine like a splash of cold water as a realization was reached.

He might not have understood the complete depth of his feelings, but he did understand he _needed_ Anderson.

He knew well that this was a tenuous arrangement. There might come a day where this place became inaccessible to him, or Anderson disappeared into depths of the afterlife Alucard couldn't reach. This place, with enough persistence, might even successfully snuff out all the things that had drawn him to Anderson in the first place. There were so many things that could go wrong, so many things he’d be unable to combat if they arose, and he wouldn’t be able to deal with losing Anderson any better than he had dealt with the loss he'd experienced as a human. He was still a weak man at the core of himself, unable to court loss with the grace and dignity one would expect of a creature of his advanced age.

Fear had been a frequent companion throughout his life, a well-kept secret that even much of the Hellsing bloodline hadn’t figured out despite cultivating the perfect environment for it. It found its way to him again, like it always did, and buried itself within the bowels of his heart.

* * *

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t let himself. When next he saw Anderson, he got him on the ground and coiled his shadows around his wrists, pulling them high above his head so he wouldn’t be able to draw his bayonets. This was nothing he hadn’t done before, so Anderson didn’t think anything of it, already arching into his touch in anticipation of pleasure. And he did give pleasure, but not in the manner Anderson was accustomed to receiving it, nor in a way he would have wanted to receive it. It was the sudden snap of his teeth around Anderson’s neck that he used to send Anderson keening. The momentary daze his bite brought was crucial to his plan. He held no delusions of being able to restrain Anderson long with his shadows alone, and certainly not long enough to drain him.

It was a somber act, absent of his usual relish. He devoured Anderson fast, in relative silence, pulling him into his gullet with great mouthful and holding him down when the euphoric rush had subsided enough for the struggles to start. Shadows coiled around Anderson’s chest and biceps and legs, securing him to the floor as best he could. It curbed his thrashing enough for Alucard to empty him to the point of hypovolemic shock, and the task got much easier from there.

“Alucard,” said Anderson, voice faint and fading. “_Alucard_.”

The acquisition of a soul was like a warm ribbon slipping down one’s throat. Anderson’s ribbon burned hotter than any other he had experienced, a blue star circulating throughout his bloodstream. He wasn’t sure a lesser vampire could have ever hoped to hold it.

He coaxed the last few mouthfuls of life from Anderson and jerked his head up at the sound of the walls creaking, and he just barely had time to catch sight of the world peeling into black around them, sloughing down like spiderwebs in the rain, before a jarring sensation knocked him askew and he snapped his eyes open to the floor of his chambers. It was such a sudden transition that he was rendered dazed by it.

The first thing he did upon recovering his composure was close his eyes and reach within himself. He felt around for that newly acquired trickle of energy, stretched a hand toward it, and when he opened his eyes again he was standing before a shivering Anderson in a vast black field. He wasn’t shivering from the cold. That much was clear.

Alucard drew him close, fingers coiling into his cassock and lips drawing a kiss from him. One that was returned, despite everything, so he was emboldened to move his lips to Anderson's jaw and down his throat, feeling out every inch of what he would now have for the rest of his existence.

“What have you done?” asked Anderson quietly.

Alucard glanced up. It took him a long time to find an answer. “I’ve freed you from perdition,” he said.

“No,” said Anderson, and still he clung onto Alucard, drawing Alucard to his chest, his tenderness at odds with the tremulous quality of his voice. “You’ve damned me.”


End file.
